


Someone You Loved

by XxFandomTrashxX



Series: Falls and Effect [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Based on Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi, Based on a song, Character Death, Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Songfic, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21895828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxFandomTrashxX/pseuds/XxFandomTrashxX
Summary: “Hearing about a friend’s death is heartbreaking, hearing it was a suicide is worse, knowing your the cause of it makes the pain feel like it’s crushing you, but watching your friend kill themself because of a mistake you made? That’s something that’s hard to come back from.“
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Falls and Effect [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577230
Kudos: 18





	Someone You Loved

Hearing about a friend’s death is heartbreaking, hearing it was a suicide is worse, knowing your the cause of it makes the pain feel like it’s crushing you, but watching your friend kill themself because of a mistake you made? That’s something that’s hard to come back from. 

John opens the door of 221B, having decided to visit after being constantly nagged by Miss Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, and even Mycroft, all of them having told him that Sherlock’s mental state was rapidly declining, and Miss Hudson even going so far as to vividly describe the pain Sherlock had been putting himself through, outright refusing to eat, only consuming alcohol and various drugs, and spending some quality time with weapons he had, guns, razors, knifes, etc. Miss Hudson told him of how she had tried to stop him numerous times, calling the other three several times to help, but all of them unable to break through to him and almost getting injured by him when they wouldn’t back off. John had just gotten off of work and decided to pop in while his former landlady was watching over Rosie, just to see if Sherlock was truly as bad off as they had said.

He enters the building, closing the door behind him and ascending up the steps, hand ghosting over the railing. He pauses before the door to Sherlock’s flat, hearing two faint clicks accompanied by shaky breathing, he’s confused by the sounds and opens the door, shock and horror filling his features as he watches Sherlock pull the trigger, the bullet piercing his skull and blowing a huge crater into his head. A manic smile remains on his face as his body goes stiff, he stands for a few moments before falling to his knees and down the rest of the way, his face looking at the wall opposite of John, the hole in his head visible to the army doctor.

John covers his mouth, inhaling shakily, he falls slightly, catching himself on the door frame. He stares at the corpse, blood running cold as Sherlock’s begins to rush from his wounds, coating the wooden floor in his blood. Tears begin to well up in John’s eyes, guilt hitting him like a train, he had forgiven Sherlock a month ago as he had realized and come to terms with Mary’s death not being his fault and rather her decision of sacrifice. He should’ve come to check on him after hearing what their friends were saying, after Mycroft’s advise when Irene Adler was executed, he should have known Sherlock wasn’t able to make the right decisions. 

John slides down the wall, legs giving out beneath him. A tear slips down his cheek as he looks over the dead detective’s body, knowing he couldn’t have faked it this time, that he wouldn’t have. He’s alone now, he trusted Sherlock to take care of himself without his help, but it was too big of a request as things now show. No more adventures for the two of them, no more late night talks about trivial things, like whether the sun goes around the earth or vice versa. Cold nights where John is completely alone now fill his future, at least before he could return to this room since he knew that he tried to save the detective, but now? This was his fault, it would be shameful to return. Lestrade, Molly, Miss Hudson... they were all friends, but they could never be as close as he and Sherlock, the relationship they had developed, he understood why people thought they were a couple, with all the time they spent together and all the situations they got themselves into, it was understandable, he just wishes he could bring him back, apologize and say the truth, that he loved him, platonically, romantically, whatever he could handle, but it’s too late for apologies and confessions, what’s done is done, he has nothing, he has no one now. 

When Sherlock was alive, at least he knew that he could visit anytime he wanted to or needed to, problems with Mary or work, even after Mary’s death, he could have said sorry and Sherlock would have forgiven him. He should have trusted Sherlock’s words, when he said that he’d be lost without his blogger, because he wasn’t lying, and the corpse on the ground before John just proves that. But now, now, after all of this, there’s nothing left, only memories to hang on to, the stories he wrote on his site to remind him, no more late night talks, no more bloody pieces of dead people in the fridge, no more cases or nights up researching or drinking, no, none of that, just nights of sorrow, pain, and regret for what could have been if John could have just forgiven him openly. Sherlock helped him, mentally and physically, emotionally supporting him as well as the Holmes boys could, risking his life and reputation for John Watson, doing everything he could to make up for his transgressions, but John could never repay him, and now he’d never get the chance to try.

John knows he’ll never meet another man like Sherlock, selfless and loving when it counts, sure, he was an arrogant twat most of the time, but he still cared about a lot of people, and while he could never show it in a way they understood or could appreciate, he still showed it in his own little ways, showing regret on his face after he hurt one of his friends. Like in Baskerville, when he said he didn’t have friends, he realized his error and how much it hurt John, trying to make it up to him in his odd little ways, one of them being an experiment, but in any case, he still tried, and John had to appreciate that, it would be wrong not to.

The rest of his time there is mostly a blur, him calling the police and waiting for them to arrive, he moves out of the room, sitting on the staircase that leads up to his old room, still sobbing, Greg escorts him out when he arrives on the scene, helping him down the steps as he’s barely able to hold himself up, he leads him to one of the back of one of the ambulance, sitting him down in the back, people rush into 221B, Detective Lestrade included once he gets John to calm down enough to breath.

The funeral comes and goes, everyone mourning that day, even Mycroft seemingly distraught by his brother’s death, though as the years pass, one after another, John is the only one that returns to the grave, making sure to visit once every two months at the very least, bringing flowers with him to replace the dead ones always decorating the already grim reminder of his past. Rosie grows up, accompanying him every time he goes. Even into his old age, it still hurts him every time he sees this grave head, with all the lives he took and saved when in Afghanistan, nothing could have prepared him for the pain of this, it was also a choice like Mary’s death, but this was John’s fault, and it wasn’t Sherlock’s life or someone else’s, it was because of a mistake John made and had to forever bear afterwards.

Never attaching himself to anyone for the rest of the time he spends on earth in fear of losing them too, he dies at the age of seventy-six, Mary and Sherlock waiting for him at the pearly white gates, after years of restlessness over this, he can finally make things write and be put to eternal rest.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little Uh... angst fest


End file.
